


Learning Affection

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Hawke, M/M, Other, fenris slowly learning to appreciate affection more like HURL ME INTO THE SUN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7080091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Initially, Fenris hardly knows what to do with how... touchy Hawke can be. But, well, people change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning Affection

Hawke grew up in a home full of affection. Hugs and shoves and comforting hands on arms. Hug-o-wars were a common happening even well into adolescence for the Hawke children.

Fenris does not like being touched. When not dealing with the chronic pain of his tattoos, making the whole idea of being touched simply agonizing, he simply prefers to be left alone. Now that he finally possesses control over his own form his first act of ownership is to rule that no one shall touch it without permission.

Embracing Hawke is his first memory of ever doing such a thing. Better yet, he allows this. They squeeze him so tightly, just for a moment, that he feels his back pop. He stands straighter, raises up on his toes for a moment and awkwardly pats at their back. They don't seem to mind.

It's nice. A comfortable closeness that has been, till now, so foreign for him. It ends too soon, though he is thankful for Hawke's adherence to his boundaries.

“It'll be alright.” they say, smiling warmly, and Fenris feels a swell of something in his chest. He nods.

“It will.”

 

Later, they make the mistake of placing a hand on his shoulder when not welcomed. He snaps at them, storms off, and even without looking back he can tell they've shrunk back. He has many reasons to be angry in this moment but this action is what causes him to direct it at Hawke.

Nearly instantly, he feels awful. One comforts people they care about. Touch is a normal part of interactions. He's the one that feels wrong, not them.

But Hawke apologizes. Fenris returns the gesture, looking down at the broken tile of the mansion floor as he speaks, and when his gaze returns to Hawke they've held their arms out to him. Hesitant, but welcoming.

He only pauses a second before he steps into them. This hug is a bit tighter but no longer than the first. Even as they uncoil their arms from around him, however, Fenris feels himself leaning against them.

 

He has never, above all else, wanted to be held before.

But here Hawke is, changing this as well. Their hands comb his hair, gentle—as if he is made of something brittle and delicate. Their legs twine with his, lips brushing his collarbone, and it just feels... too good.

When it is over he dresses as quietly as possible and intends to leave before Hawke wakes. But he still lingers, watching them sleep, and wants nothing more than to crawl back into their arms again. He takes so long they wake.

It makes things hurt even more.

 

Years pass and Hawke does not hold him again. It is, he feels, for the best. But this cannot stop Hawke's constant affection. And, he finds, he doesn't want to.

They take to squeezing his shoulder or elbow at certain times. It is difficult to say whether this is a comfort to Hawke or Fenris. Or, perhaps, both of them. Regardless, Fenris finds it oddly pleasant. He cannot hold them but they are there and he can tell; he can feel their magic-warmed hands every time they pat his back—just once—after a fight ends.

When Leandra leaves them, Fenris initiates an embrace. It's not anything like when Hawke hugs him—he slings his arm awkwardly over their shoulders and pulls them against his side.

He wants to wrap them in his arms, face in their hair, and whisper that perhaps nothing will ever be okay but he is there. But this would be... confusing. For both of them. So he simply lets them rest their head on his shoulder and savors the feeling of having them near.

Hawke sniffles and shifts to press their face against his neck. Fenris swallows hard but allows this, attempting to focus on comforting his 'friend' above the memories of soft kisses being peppered there.

 

Defeating Danarius leaves him... empty.

Generally, he would deal with this by drinking or screaming or fighting someone. But Hawke is here and Hawke is warm and he flings himself into their arms before he can even think of what he's doing. Lanky limbs coil around them and Hawke staggers to keep themselves upright as Fenris pulls himself in so close his feet almost trip them.

The moment he realizes what he's doing, he's muttering apologies and pulling away. But Hawke wraps their arms around him, firmly but gently, and keeps him where he is.

“Don't apologize.” they say, voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I've so many things to apologize for.” he replies quietly, digging fingers into the fabric of their coat even at risk of leaving holes.

“I understand.” Hawke says, swaying on their feet.

They're rocking him, he realizes, as a hand gently runs through his hair. He wants to cry. Instead, he kisses them. He cries later, wrapped in their limbs against the chill of the evening, and marvels at the sheer impossibility of being back in their arms again.

 

After everything, touching becomes slowly more normal. Hawke develops ways of warning of their intended action; a gentle touch on the arm indicates an incoming hug, a hand draped over his shoulder means he can eagerly await a kiss, a tap on the side means they intend to fling their arm over his shoulders and pull him against their side (they make the action much more comforting than he feels he did all those years ago). Hawke is always respectful and understanding if Fenris does not feel like... feeling these things.

But even on his worse pain days, when even the skin under his fingernails aches, he finds the right touch from Hawke can be comfortable all the same.

“Fenris...”

A hand runs over his shoulder, stopping in the crook of his neck, and Fenris smiles. He mentally marks his place in his book, awaiting a soft kiss against the side of his throat.

“Yes, Hawke?”

He straightens his back and presses his cheek to their hand; it's warm and smells like old leather and herbs. This is their indication, their welcome mat.

Hawke leans down and buries their face against his neck but, instead of a kiss Fenris bristles as they blow a loud, wet raspberry against his skin. He all but throws his book, cursing, and staggers to his feet—wheeling around just in time to see Hawke vault their study's desk and take off across the house. He can hear them laughing like a maniac down the hall.

A brief pause to mark his page and Fenris leaps over the desk after them, shouting empty threats and fighting for traction on the marble floors. When he catches them he pins them to the floor and returns the offense, nearly tenfold. Hawke laughs and squirms but makes no real effort to get themselves free.

“Be glad you are nice to look at.” he says, feigning a critical glare at Hawke, “Otherwise, I may have done worse.”

“You loved it, admit it.” Hawke fires back, cheeks tinged pink from laughter.

Fenris regards them for a moment, Hawke's goofy grin widening as he does, and sighs.

“I love stranger things than that.”


End file.
